


Unconventional Gift

by Ebony_Prodigy



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/F, Fluff, POV First Person, Reminiscing, slight romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5664391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebony_Prodigy/pseuds/Ebony_Prodigy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trish remembers the not-so-subtle way she met her love, dodging fists and bullets on her way to weeding into her heart, forever cherished in a world of chaos and destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unconventional Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry or any of its characters.

Demons are such a weak and predictable lot, they are hardly worth the hassle anymore with their low health. The wet snarls and groans emitted from their rotten throats had no effect on me, my twin pistols and sleek moves laying waste to their primitive urges with ease.

I grew bored with the easy fodder.

Perhaps my demonic abilities surpassed the average demon and they hardly required effort to get rid of without restraint, forcing me to traipse from town to town until I found a formidable opponent to give me a proper workout.

A formidable opponent I had heard approving gossip about, made out of _human_ flesh; of lithe, supple curves and a fiery attitude to match.

Our first “unofficial” meeting we sized each other up. I commanded her attention after I stole her last demonic kill from my position on the rooftop, her hetero-chromatic eyes blazing with an indignant fire, shooting up at me with her cute little gun, the huntress then coming up the stairs to the roof. I toyed with her, kicking her off balance, flipping out of her bullet's trajectory, all in a sense to test my adversary.

As rumors go, she fought with a stylish and enraged finesse all her own in opposition to demons, leaving them to underestimate her because she is a human, ending them with a quick blast from her rocket launcher. Though, I'll admit, I couldn't seem to get the same reaction from her. For a fleeting moment my interest waned, seeing her use only her pistols, however she surprised me.

A grenade soared in the air then she shot it, the blast pushing me back unexpectedly, ruining my clothes.

It seems I had found my challenge.

I enjoyed our small quarrel, having a chance to see a glimpse into her move set; to see if they were worth my time. While elated of the talk surrounding her proved true, I wasn't too pleased that she ruined my clothes. Fighting among creatures smelling like rotting chickens and boiled eggs, I had to keep up my appearance from feeling dirty. A girl's gotta have style in contrast to so many tattered rags hanging sadly off these damned souls.

Our “second” meeting I followed her after she left Dante's office to a run-down mechanical shop, adding some new features to her rocket launcher; probably beefing up her arsenal for the next time we met. However, before our next run-in I thought I should repay her with the same unexpected gesture she showed me the previous night.

I created an explosive canister, an old man alerting her to my presence after he stepped outside the garage. After she investigated his sightings, I threw the homemade bomb to her, watching her dodge and shove the man out of harm's way; my sapphire blues seeing her clothes dirtied and torn, though she had no real injuries to her.

Our “third” unofficial meeting brought us together at a shopping boutique. I had spent the majority of my time slipping into trendy shirts, trying on sleek pants, and stylish jackets. Satisfied that I had picked new clothing to my liking I gathered them, hearing a woman outside my dressing room comment on her dislike of my fashion—based on seeing my booted heels.

Pulling back the curtain my eyes settled on hetero-chromatic ones; the surprise on our faces making our bodies lock up, our clothes dropping to the floor.

Looking back on it my concern split into two―one for my health and the other for my soon-to-be purchased clothes getting dirt spots on them. I bent down to pick them up, and with amazing speed she withdrew her pistol, my sapphires catching her brief, facial shock morph into anger. Just as soon as she pulled it out she replaced it in her holster. When she bent down to retrieve her clothing a light, floral scent rushed by me; light but powerful, soft but strong. Like the smell of magnolias releasing their aromas in the air after a hard rain.

“A demon out shopping? My, aren't we full of ourselves,” she said in a low and silky tone, bravado and cynicism dripping from her every word, picking up her clothes. “Get the hell out of here. I'd hate to go at it with you and destroy this nice boutique and all the designer clothes.”

Something crawled inside my chest after she spoke, feeling like warm butter spreading through my body, tickling me to my core. Somehow I knew our next run-in would escalate to a heated brawl, now that we had a chance to (partially) soothe our nerves by way of retail therapy.

I moved on to the front counter, one of the sales associates trying to upscale me on other designer wears to go along with my outfit. Without warning, that snarky brunette hollered from the dressing room, demanding attention from the workers.

“Hello! I need some clothes from that rack by the goddamn front door!”

Stunned eyes from around the store settled on her, surprising everyone with her sudden outburst. Reeling from her demand, a soft smile eased onto her lips, her bare shoulder peeking from her unbuttoned shirt. Something abut that image stamped itself into my mind, an image of strong femininity coupled with a calm softness struck a cord with me.

Our third and subsequent “official” meeting brought us together at a church. In a way I guess it was symbolic, our union merged through bullets and fists, united by a common goal to kill demons―of a different caliber. Keeping intel between Dante and I, I told him of a naughty white demon that wanted to take over this human plane, in which said demon disguised himself as a priest and commissioned the spunky brunette to kill _me_ instead; leaving him without worry to gather the strength he needed to rule.

I told Dante to meet us at the church so me and the human huntress could properly introduce ourselves, alas the lazy bum showed up late, probably leaving it up to me to distract her until he arrived.

The fiery determination brimming in her eyes allowed me the honor to see the extent of her physical prowess, impressing me with how fierce her drive to eliminate me pressed on with. It kept me on my toes, having to remind myself that I couldn't slack off or be too playful. Withal, Dante broke up our fun with his intrusive entrance.

I'll admit, we may have gotten a bit _involved_ with our (well mines) sparring, not realizing the notion that we really could have harmed each other. Not to say she's a weak flower, taking those punches and kicks like a champ, but one of us could have slipped up and took the fight too far.

After we sorted out the mix-ups and the fake demonic priest met his end, we parted ways. I met up with Dante the next day to tell him I'd be leaving, going on a hunt for more challenges and following demonic leads. Outside the office the human hunter pulled up on a bike, looking renewed and stunning in a burgundy blazer. I complimented her on the get-up after she offered me a ride halfway to my destination, finding out we both went shopping and gave the bill to Dante.

I had never seen such a happy smile on her, displaying a radiant shine to her otherwise smug demeanor. It ignited an unfamiliar spark in my belly, the feeling warming my insides to emit it's own elated glow. Enraptured. Engrossed. A bubbling sensation deepening when we came together from them on―whether we shopped, fought together or in opposition to one another, the indescribable hold compressed into this ball... and then it burst.

* * *

After all this I found my heart, tangled in the unknown tingling that fluttered around my insides whenever she neared; beating as if I rode on adrenaline.

In our little apartment we now shared, we couldn't contain our excitement after we gained a big payout from a job. I sat on the couch in a cream-colored babdydoll as Lady, _my_ Lady, gamboled about the kitchen at 3 AM, sporting black and yellow-striped matching underwear. On a plate she prepared a bevy of fruit and whipped cream, beckoning her finger for me to come to her.

After I sat on the kitchen floor with my back against the island, a blindfold covered my eyes, my long legs draped over hers while she cradled my hips, pulling herself closer to me. Something spongy and tart caressed my lips before they pulled apart and bit down, an explosive flow of sweet nectar spilling on my tongue, followed by her finger that I suckled clean.

“An orange,” I giggled as I chewed, unable to contain my giddyness.

A hum escaped through her lips, shifting into some jejune melody she sang whenever in a cheery mood, humming the tune now to disguise what she did with the whipped cream.

I appreciated the lighter days, without the tyrannies of minutiae: demons wearing human skins; of human trading their own for demonic money; of Dante skipping on jobs because they aren't worth his time.

Too many things could fade away without warning, leaving an emptiness that can never be filled, or rather, replaced with a harmful vice, temporarily filling said abyss with substances just as damaging. It was moments like these that I held close to my heart, relishing the brittle gestures and the memories along the way.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Well, this was my fist attempt at a Trish/Lady pairing. To be honest I had no idea on how to start this because I don't really ship this pairing, but I thought I'd give it a go and I liked it!
> 
> I hope in the next DMC game we'll get more with the ladies (Lucia too, dammit!) so in the meantime, when my other crap is updated, I'll do more with these two.
> 
> Ciao!


End file.
